


Our only friend

by reason_says



Category: Fall Out Boy, World's Most Hated Crew
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reason_says/pseuds/reason_says
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris. Wanking. No actual pairings, but the possibility of all of them.<br/>Summary? "Wanking" isn't enough for you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our only friend

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: To the best of my knowledge, this never happened. I am in no way affiliated with any of the real people referenced herein, and I am making no money from this.

**Our only friend**

 

It's not that he thinks about Pete. Not specifically, not by name. But after a show, after an hour of watching him jump around the stage in jeans that get tighter with every pair he buys, there's not much else to think about. At least it's easier now that he's in the crowd. Onstage behind him, he had to focus all his energy on playing, had to ignore Pete's voice (god, the perfect scream, harder, deeper, throatier than any he'd heard before or since), Pete's ass, Pete coming up behind him and wrapping the mic cord around his neck.

Now, there's none of that. Or there is, but Pete's stuck behind a mic stand when he screams, which makes it even better, easier to focus. And when he moves away from his mic, it's to twirl in the air, to climb on the pipes, to whisper to Patrick, all the things he couldn't do when he was restricted by the cord.

Patrick. There's another problem. It was easier when he could shrug it off as a one-time thing, something to think about but never do again, and certainly not with anyone else. But the way Patrick shudders when Pete talks to him, still unused to it, makes Chris want to be the one whispering in his ear, making him shiver, making him moan.

All of which, combined, is why no one can ever find him right after the show. He's been up front the whole time, half onstage for a good portion of it, but he disappears as soon as the music fades, rushing to the bathroom and jerking his pants down, no time to drag it out (they'll be expecting him, he's always there afterwards, but he just needs this so bad) so he grabs himself roughly, and his mind flickers between Pete's mouth and Patrick's face, Pete's words in his mind and the thought of Patrick on his knees. He doesn't know if he wants to be one, the other, both, or if he just wants to watch, but flashes of tattoos and the echo of Pete's screams are almost enough, bring him right to the edge, and he closes his eyes tightly, bits his lip, and sees in his mind Patrick tilting his head back, his neck exposed for Pete's lips, his teeth, his tongue, and that does it and he comes with a grunt, stifling himself as well as he can (he's quick, but not that quick, and there are people waiting outside). He takes a few seconds more, panting until he can control his breathing, then zips up and goes back into the club.

"Hey, Chris, where were you, man?"

Arms around his shoulders, Pete's forehead pressed against his, he feels a twinge of guilt before letting go and laughing.

"Oh, you know. Taking care of business. Man, you were great tonight."


End file.
